The Villain Of The Piece
by Lunawerewolfy
Summary: A hero needs three things: A city, a costume, and an arch nemesis. And that's all well and good, until it turns out you're the arch nemesis of a small, angry Robin who you may or may not be crushing on. Damian/Reader.
1. Chapter 1

_**1**_

You taste Gotham on the air and breath deeply, accepting its filth into your young lungs.

It tasted like tar, ash and villainy. Under you the city heaves, rolling and churning, spewing crime like weeping sores. A hundred million people, every one of stranger, all the same and all so different from what you're used to. Gotham infects them, changes them, warps them, like you can feel it warping you.

You love it.

You stand and catch the tail of the breeze, stretch your legs over the rooftops edge. The winds rush past like a sigh of disappointment.

You are young. Your muscles coil like steel springs, and you leap over the daunting gap, skidding onto concrete. You are running like a deer, running like you were born to run.

A diamond bounces out of the bag at your hip, and you snatch it back easily. You need to invest in better inventory, but the diamond is a cool kiss against your lips. You laugh.

You are going to love this city.

* * *

NEW CATWOMAN? DIAMOND STOLEN FROM ART SHOWCASE

You spread the newspaper over your fresh black granite workspace, working your toes into the thick fur carpet. You skim the article with little interest, only slightly annoyed. You'd hoped to be a copy-cat (if you excuse the pun) for a little while longer. The best heist, you reason, is one people don't even realise happened.

Now, there was no way you'd ever be able to fit comfortably in a catsuit, not with all the Cupid Diets, great make-up and boob-padding in the world, but as an illusionist you could take a few liberties. It wasn't the best grade of magic ever, you couldn't illusion-up a proper room or scenario for more than a little while and only on a few people at a time. You couldn't, like, make someone relive their greatest nightmares (not that you'd really want to, to be fair, you did have standards, after all) but it was fairly useful for petty crimes. And not-so-petty crimes.

You stretch over to the expensive cappuccino maker, that makes 'outstanding, beautiful blends'. You don't know how you'd tell if it was any good when all you get is a thimble-size, but there you go.

Maybe you should chose another villain to impersonate. But, damn it, you really enjoyed being cat-woman. You could do flips, make cat-puns, crack a whip about. It was a riot.

And anyway, you reason as the coffee-maker excreted a 'rich and flavourful blend' of god-knows-what, most Gotham villains stole with a purpose. Well, a purpose other than making $$$. The joker stole a giant hot air balloon so he can pump it full of joker-farts or whatever, and burst it over Gotham. Even the penguin stole stuff because he's gotta paint a giant penguin on it and turn it into a bomb or something.

If too many—

"Cuz?" A voice calls from the doorway.

You jerk around, surprised. "Addie?" You frown, glancing at the clock. "I thought you'd be cowering from the sunlight at this hour. What, don't tell me you've finally decided to stop mooching of distant relatives and you're getting a proper job?"

Adalbrecht laughs. "As if. Not all of us are freaks like you."

You hum, and swallow your coffee in a single gulp. Not as impressive as it sounds. You gesture to the newspaper. "It looks like I can't use Catwoman anymore."

Adalbrecht leans over your shoulder. "I can't see why not. I mean, you might attract Batman, but if you can get in and get out fast enough it shouldn't be a problem. I don't think Catwoman will sue you for plaguerism."

You laugh. "Yeah, but I've got a better idea."

* * *

"End of the line, Rough cut, Catwoman." Batman appears like smoke, shadowed closely by little Robin.

shit shit shit SHIT SHIT.

You try to look calm and collected, draped languidly over the throne. You desperately add details as the pair approach, the bright sheen of new leather, the glint of rough-cut's teeth, but you can't keep up with Robin's sharp, calculating eyes. You really never wanted to face the dynamic duo, especially not with Adalbrecht working as a model.

You sit up slowly, muscles moving like water over a rocks. "You got me. What's to say I leave you the diamonds and we call it even, kids?"

You actually mean it. Heck, you'd nip back home and give them some freebies if you thought it'd help. But it doesn't work like that, and already you're wondering if you have enough skill to leave air copies of Catwoman and Rough-Cut behind while you make a quick get away.

Robin's eyes flashes to Rough-Cut, suspicion growing.

Shit, SHIT SHIT SHIT! You forgot Rough-Cut was more than a front, he was supposed to be a calculating, evil man. He is supposed to hate woman as well, they'd already be suspicious of his involvement.

Your eyes flicker shut it what you hope is a saucy wink, and Rough-Cut reaches for his gun.

Big mistake.

The batarang sinks into Adalbrecht's chest.

The illusion shatters like glass.

You brother falls, slowly, but you're barely there to catch him. His weight pins you awkwardly to the ground, and you fumble with his chest. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish.

"I didn't—" The Batman tries, taking a step forward, "I thought—"

You pull off your shirt, and press it against the sides of the batarang, applying pressure. You move on instinct, brain still not functioning. "Leave..." you say, quietly.

"Look, I'll call an ambulance," The Batman moves forward, dark cloak catching the wind.

"LEAVE!" You scream, and Batman stumbles.

Suddenly Robin's attention is on Batman. He moves with such poise and confidence, a stumble in unheard of. Robin's gaze flickers from him to the bleeding teenager, flicking out a batarang of his own. Mind control? He knew they had illusionary powers, but…

The Batman turns on his heel, and walks out. Robin follows mistrustfully, casting glances back at the pair, half-expecting something to happen.

As soon as they leave you turn your attention to Adalbrecht, mind working sluggishly, but speeding up. You flip out a phone, keeping one hand around the batarang.

Your (pretty limited) medical knowledge told you it would be a tough one, but he'd be alright.

You hoped.

* * *

"Adalbrecht? Your father's here to see you."

Adalbrecht glances up from the papers, wincing as pain lances through his chest. He presses a hand gingerly to his ribs, and swallows. Father? Unless a damn zombie came through the door, he really doubted that. He shut off the television with his free hand. "Send him in."

What walks through the door is the cheesiest, most over the top father figure he's ever seen. A chiselled, square jaw dusted with six-o'-clock shadow, clear blue eyes like January skies, a bushy moustache, ginger hair flecked with grey. A powerful, broad-shouldered build. A monocle.

"Vatti!" Adalbrecht tried his hardest to sound high-pitched and sweet through his laughter.

"Wie geht's, Halbstarke?" You ask, tugging on your moustache. You tried to sound regal, and dammit you succeeded.

"Good, good, Vatti. Got stabbed, but it's all good, really." Adalbrecht sunk back into his pillows, breathing out a laugh.

"The surgery was okay?" You ask, taking off your hat to reveal a magnificent full-head of hair. The grey around your temples is really just for show. It made a few nurses swoon.

"It's all fine. I'll have a scar, and I won't be able to do strenuous physical exercise for a bit, but all the, uh, knife did was put a big hole in my ribs." Adalbrecht sighed, then grinned crookedly. "I love the monocle, Vatti. Nice touch."

"You like it?" You make a move to touch it, but since you can't really feel it you have to guess where it is. You end up making a vague gesture instead. "I got it after a surprisingly successful paycheck."

"Oh, that got through, did it?" Adalbrecht's grin widened. "Ka-ching!" He mouthed.

"Ja, junge," You stand up, towering over his bedside, "Ka-ching."

* * *

Robin coils his muscles, white eyes narrowing to the horizon. He slinks through the shadows of Gotham's highest towers, dropping glances down the sprawl of streets, ears pricked to the sound of screams.

It is at times like these, he feels the most powerful, and the least human. He os not Damian Wayne, in this moment. He feels like a warrior of justice, sleepless as the city he roamed, without anger, fear, love or sorrow.

His fingers curl around the edge of the building, eyes slitting at the darkness, tensing his muscles for—

"Robin!" Batman called.

Robin didn't startle, he told himself. He simply froze in order to assess the need to turn. He turned slowly, the dark shadow of Batman solidifying on the rooftop.

"Robin, status report." Batman orders.

Robin glares, straightening up. All his anger rises to the surface. "Sorry, Grayson, but you're not my father. You don't get to lock me up whenever you feel like it."

Under the batman illusion, you flinch at the heat of his glare. Batman steels his face. "No, Robin, status report. On the copy-cat illusionist. I mean it."

Robin's eyes widen, and he leans back a little. "You're no mad at me for sneaking out of the manor…?"

Oh, jeez. You take a chance to glance across the magnificent city, and try to think of something batsy. "I am not angry at you doing your job, Robin."

Robin's eyes are fixed on Batman for a few minuets, and then something like pride blooms over his features. "They live with their distant cousin, Adalbrecht, in a high-rise apartment in Gotham's city centre. They were adopted into Adalbrecht's family when they were three, after their parents died in a car-crash, and they have lived together in France for three years, then in Germany for five years, where Adalbrecht's parents and younger brother died, and then moved to North Dakota and lived there until a few months ago, when they moved to Gotham and became instantly rich, which no traceable income. The time they moved also matches the sudden increase in crimes linked to Cat-woman, almost to the day." Robin finishes up, damn near beaming.

"We don't have any evidence strongly linking them to the crimes, so we can't do anything with the information yet." Batman says sternly. "Their illusions are picked up by the cameras, so we can't counteract it with any breath equipment."

Robin blinks, surprised, and looks out over the city too.

You suddenly have no idea what to do, or how to leave. You flex your muscles under your suit, watching them bulge while Robin looks away, disgusted. See, Cat-woman never has this problem. She just makes and innuendo, and/or saucy wink and just slips elegantly into the night.

"So, Robin," You start, coughing awkwardly.

Robin ignores you.

"What do you think of the Copy-cat? As a person, I mean."

Robin huffs. "They're despicable."

You resist the temptation to press a hand dramatically to your chest and weep. You are a lot of things, and Drama-Queen is certainly up there. "How so?" you ask, keeping your voice bat-manly. Ha.

"Illusionists are the worst kind of criminals. They twist peoples minds, steal credit from the hard-working, ruin names and families. They're cardboard crooks," Robin snarls, "Phonies."

You sigh, and dangle a leg off the building's side. "I don't know, I think this one's kind-of cute."

Robin snaps his head around, staring.

You stick out your tongue, and blow a wet raspberry.

Robin is twisting around scrambling for his batarangs, but you're already slipping off the building, disappearing into the night.

Your laughter ricochets through Gotham while the batarangs glance uselessly from the steel giants.

* * *

 _ **A/n:**_

I actually have always wanted to write a _/Reader story, I just haven't had the guts. They're my guilty pleasure, and there are actually some good ones.

I wrote this in one massive rush, and only did light editting, and I'm pretty sure I slipped out of tenses a couple times. Sorry about that.

Also, while I am actually learning german and didn't google translate the sentances, they may not be accurate. Here's whats said:

" _Vatti_ " == "Daddy/papa"

" _Wie geht's, Halbstarke?_ " == "How are you, yob/delinquent?"

" _Ja, junge_ " == "Yes, boy."

The pair are fluent in German, but it's a second language, so they speak mainly in english.

You may complain Reader's a mary/gary sue, but to be fair, it's in the spirit of Character/Reader, and regardless, Bruce Wayne's, like, the epitome of Mary-Sues, and we all love him very dearly. Regardless, I will listen to your complaints, because constructive criticism is always welcome :)

 _ **R &R**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**2**_

"It's Robin's birthday soon." You say, trying to make it sound off-hand.

Adalbrecht raises an eyebrow. "And how would you know?"

You shrug, ducking behind the coffee-maker. "I may have done some reconnaissance. Anyway, I'm thinking about making him some cupcakes. Do we have any maple syrup?"

Adalbrecht laughs. "You? Cooking? Please, spare us."

You scowl, brandishing a measuring jug. "I'm not giving him store-bought stuff!"

Adalbrecht yanks the jug from your hands. "I'll make him something. You go and bring home the bacon."

You grin, leaping over the counter. "That's why you're the boss!"

Adalbrecht waves. "Stay out of trouble."

* * *

You ring the door, dropping the cupcake basket on their doorstep. You hurtle up a tree, swallowing your cackles as best you can.

There is a moment of silence.

A shuffle, and a bang, and the door opens.

Damian stares down at the basket, face knotting itself into a look of pure anger.

A giggle escapes you.

Damian's eyes are on you in an instant, dark and furious.

You slip out of the trees, grinning wildly. You're a kid today, gangly and ginger, freckles smothering your bare shoulders. "It's your birthday, isn't it? Today you're—"

A muffin explodes across your face, filling your hair with sticky syrup. You spit and laugh and scrape the worst of it off.

You barely manage to duck before another one shoots past your ear.

You're laughing, big and booming, as you dart forwards to scoop up your own ammo, barely missing a direct, close-quarters head shot.

You think you might see Damian smile too, but it could just be the sugar rush.

* * *

"Did he like his muffins?"

Adalbrecht's words come with a rattling punch that you divert with the butt of your hand, skimming backwards to avoid the kick following it. Sparring always loosened you up.

"I don't know, we were wearing most of them," You swipe at his face that he dodges, leaping up you when you try and sweep his legs from under him. "I guess I'll just have to wait until Christmas to give him something else."

Adalbrecht raises an eyebrow. "Don't you think you're taking this a little lightly?"

You throw a sharp punch, narrowly avoiding getting your wrist caught. "Not really." You manage to catch him with a fast kick, but it's only a glancing blow.

"It's not a game."

You bend back out of reach of his punch, sending a kick to the underside of Adalbrecht's jaw. It smashes his teeth together, sending him reeling back. "It _is_ a game, cousin. And I'm winning."

Adalbrecht massages his jaw, looking concerned. "I just—"

The doorbell rings.

"I'll get it," You say quickly, scrubbing a towel over your features. You leap down the gym's stairs, and you're at the door in an instant.

You throw open the door, and your blood runs cold.

Lex Luthor stands in the hallway.

Your words die in your throat. You take a shaking step backwards. "Uh, hi, Mr. Luthor." You say, and it's like someone else is using your throat. "To what do I, um, owe the pleasure?"

Luthor smiles. "Copycat. You're a relatively new villain, aren't you? It's always nice to have some new talent running around. Things will stagnate otherwise."

"Um." You say.

"As it turns out, I have use of your abilities." Luthor glances around the hallway. "Is it alright if I come inside?"

"Oh. Oh! Of course," You scuffle backwards, closing the door behind him. You dart over to the coffee maker. "Would you like some coffee, or something?"

Luthor smiles, thinly. "No thank you. I drank before coming here." He sat down, regal and elegant and making your stomach turn.

"What would you like me to do?" You ask, when really you want to demand that he leaves, and to throw his ass out of a window yourself. Lex Luthor! You never wanted to attract the big guns, not batman and certainly never any of the injustice gang. There was a thing as too much damn crazy.

"Well, Copycat." Luthor spreads his hands over the table. "I'm sure you're annoyed by Batman's irritating antics. He has foiled your heists on more than one occasion. He always gets in the way of you and what you want."

"He stabbed my cousin," You say, smiling weakly.

Luthor nods. "And, if my plan goes off well, you never have to see him again. I will personally make sure you and your cousin live in perfect finery for the rest of your life."

You sit up. You never hated Batman, in fact he was pretty cool in your book, but you'd rather cross him a thousand times than cross Lex Luthor. However much you liked Robin, you've never been the self-sacrificing type.

"See, the reason Batman succeeds is because the police trust him. Should he, say, start to commit crimes, accept bribes, or otherwise ruin his reputation, he'd be in Arkham with the rest of us. He is already viewed by many as insane. It's only his legacy that keeps him on the other side of the law." Luthor's smile was predatory, and for a moment you think he's going to eat you. Nasty guy.

"So..." You struggle with words. "You want me to drug Batman? With evil juice or something?"

Luthor shakes his head, only slightly irritated. "I want you to _be_ batman. We will keep Batman out of sight for a while, and you'll play an evil Batman meanwhile. By the time Batman escapes, his reputation will be in tatters."

"Um." You shift away. "Sorry, Mr. Luthor, but that seems a little _direct_ … What about when the Justice League get in the way? I can't fight Wonderwoman! I couldn't even fight Batman! How am I even supposed—"

Luthor snatches your wrist.

You look down into Luthor's eyes. They're sharp and deadly, like staring down a beast of myth.

You gulp.

"If you ever want to see your cousin again, you'll do it." Luthor growls.

You twist around, glaring up into the gym. It's empty. Anger rises in your chest like fire, tearing at your ribs and rolling through your limbs.

You tear your wrist away, face hot. "Fine."

* * *

Gotham city central is the best place for a shape-shifter to lose a tail. Even trained observers, watching from the skies, wouldn't be able to keep track as millions of pedestrians spilled and pushed and shoved past each other, a churning sea of people.

It takes three minuets for the weight of eyes leave your shoulder. You're disguised as a regular grey-suited, brief-case equipped middle-aged man, rubbing tiredly at the thick lines below your eyes. You hide your happy grin behind a newspaper stand. It disappears quickly, though. There's too much at stake.

You slip back into the crowd, shouldering an umbrella that you don't use. You like the rain too much.

Half-way to Wayne manor you change your hair-colour, suit-colour, and adjust your build just to be sure. Nothing'll get you killed quicker than being predictable.

You stride up to Wayne manor, and rap your knuckles on the door.

A butler opens the door, posh and proper. "I apologise, but if you're looking for Master Grayson, he hasn't returned yet. May I take a message, Mister…?"

"Uh," You said.

The butler waits.

"Look, okay," You lean close, whispering. "I'm really sorry to disturb you, but could I talk to Damian please? It's bat-business."

The butler's eyes widen. He steps aside to let you pass, and as soon as you're in the hallway you shed your illusion, adopting the one that's on your passport instead. The butler only raised his eyebrow a little. You grin awkwardly.

"Shall I fetch Master Damian, then?" The butler asked.

"Yeah, please."

You lean awkwardly against the wall, nearly bumping into what is probably a priceless painting. You drop your head back against the wall.

It's the right decision, to go to Batman straight away rather than go with Luthor. Any warning is a good warning, and besides, you _really_ don't want to end up in Arkham. Batman will, hopefully, not throw you in a jail cell after this, and you may even get out with you and your Cousin mostly in one piece.

"What do you want, Copycat?" Damian appears at the top of the stairs.

You wince. "Lex Luthor wants to kidnap Batman and/or Robin and he wants me to pretend to be Batman and break the law, so that the police won't trust Batman anymore. He's got my cousin as well."

Damian stares.

"I thought it was best to tell you first." You grin weakly.

"Right." Damian leapt down the stairs, pushing past you. "You should leave now."

You catch his arm. "No. I'm coming too."

Damian glares at you.

You duck his punch, and slam your fist in to his stomach. He twists away as best he can, but with you holding his arm, it hits hard.

Damian glares at you, fiercely. "Fine. Come on."

You release him, jogging after him.

He stops in front of a grandfather clock that he drags forward, revealing a deep tunnel. The temperature drops a few degrees as you follow him down.

It's dark. The grandfather clock snaps shut behind you, plunging everything into blackness.

The light flicker on with a heavy thunk, spilling light onto several platforms. A huge, magnificent computer, beautiful chrome steel face and several screens. A smooth black car sat like a jaguar, beautifully waxed.

You struggle to breathe. "So this's…?"

"The Batcave," Damian drawls, already flicking on the computer. Its blue glow bathes him, and he almost looks like some kind of alien.

You move carefully, deciding to take a look around. It's all so beautiful, and _expensive_ , your inner thief can't help but marvel at it.

There's a line of suits, behind clear glass cases, like bugs on display. Hero suits. Your image flickers, mimicking each one. They spread over you like water, none of them matching your body. You try to change your face and figure with each one.

"Can you not?" Damian snaps, shooting you a glare.

You mimic him, twisting your small features into a pout. "Can _you_ not?"

Damian flinches back, tearing his eyes away. It's pure hatred in his face now, so you shift the illusion as quickly as you can.

Copying the suits looses its charm. You flip over the railing, slipping between the odd assortment of stuff on the lowest level.

A huge, towering dinosaur, green scales sharp and fake in the light, teeth still setting you on edge. Its beady eyes stare you down, so you slip away quickly. You ran your hand over the smooth curve of the giant penny. Good old Abraham Lincoln.

A freeze gun. Someone's mask. A pair of golden cymbals. Rollerskates?

You're wondering if this is even Batman's trophy room or where he throws all his stupid shit when Damian calls out to you, "Come on!"

You leap over a stapled mannequin, jumping up the steps to the Batmobile.

"Wow," You breathe.

It's truly a beautiful machine. The metal is smooth and shinning like black silk. The boosters rise out of the back like water, a seamless join. The headlights flood the cave blinding white, the inside is leather of he highest grade. Custom made. You may not appreciate cars, but you always appreciate money.

"Get in!" Damian throws open the other door. "Or I'm going to run you over."

You grin, slipping inside. "Okay. Off we go."

Damian shoots you a weathering look.

* * *

 _ **A/n:**_

 _There's an interesting debate between whether or not to give the "reader" in reader/character fics any characteristics._

 _Giving them characteristics makes them more interesting, and they have a greater effect on the plot. They seem like a solid part of the world, and thus makes their romance much more believable. But at the same time, they sort-of become much less of the 'reader' and much more of a character in their own right; giving them characteristics moves them away from the generic grey-areas. Readers can't really connect with them, and it starts to be just another character in-universe, just one that doesn't have a name and speaks in second person._

 _Not giving them characteristics makes them easier to connect with. You're reading the fic, and you can kindof get behind everything the character does. It is almost like it really is you dating the character, and that's what character/reader fics are about. But at the same time, the 'reader' takes a back-seat, or the overall story doesn't really have anything except a generic romance where ½ of the pair doesn't ever do anything dramatic/surprising, and the other half probably doesn't feel the need to. The reader character's plain spaghetti, and if the story gets too long people are half-wondering why the character even got smitten in the first place._

 _In this case, with a character like Damian, it would be really, REALLY ooc for him to fall for the first nice, kind, boring kid he saw, since loving and being loved by little d is hard work. Some middling kid isn't going to have the patience to sift through all of Damian's shit, even if they wander around life like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths._

 _Tl;dr this reader's no mundane kid._


End file.
